


Vert Is A Good Fish

by SilverMoon53



Series: Silver's Summer '18 Fic-a-thon [7]
Category: insaniquarium - Fandom
Genre: Angie has a darker past than she lets on, Backstory, Dark, First In The Fandom, Gen, Kinda experimental writing, how Vert died and why he's a skeleton, oh well i had fun writing this, tbh this game is so old i'll be surprised if i get like 10 hits, there are no other fics for this game that i can find, which i mean literally
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-10 21:04:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15299997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverMoon53/pseuds/SilverMoon53
Summary: Vert is a good fish. Good fish give gold coins. Bad fish would give rat poison. Vert gives gold coins, so Vert is a good fish. That much he is sure of.He isn’t sure of much else.





	Vert Is A Good Fish

**Author's Note:**

> Vert’s story is as follows:  
>  _"Some people are afraid to use Vert because they think that he is an undead product of dark occult forces and therefore may turn against them at any time. This is simply not true. Obviously, a bad skeleton would not give you gold coins. He would drop rat poison."_
> 
> Angie’s is this:  
>  _"To most fans, Angie can do no wrong. But to a few there will always be the question: Why did she save this fish but not that one? How does she make her fateful decision? Angie responds that she tries to save all fish but for some, it was simply their time to go. "After all, if the entire tank were saved then the frame rate would go down.""_
> 
> Naturally, I decided to combine them both into something dark.

Vert was a normal guppy at some point, he supposed. He must have been. Skeletons don’t simply pop into existence, already the size of a full grown guppy and knowing how to drop coins. And, as a normal guppy, Vert must have been alive at some point as well. Following that logic, Vert must have died at some point.

Vert was good at following simply logic like that. He wasn’t very good at much else. He could drop gold coins, and he could follow his current state backwards to know that he had once been alive. 

He also knew that, being dead, he did not require food. He could not feel pain, and he did not need rest. He simply was. Vert’s existence was simple. He went into tanks when told to, swam around, dropped coins. The aliens did not both him, the other guppies didn’t both him, the other pets seemed to ignore him.

Vert supposed this was, in part, due to him being a bad conversationalist. He could not speak, or respond to the others in any way. He could swim, he could drop coins, he could follow simple paths of logic.

The only pets that seemed to interact with him were the penguin, who would punch Vert to make him drop his coins, and the tadpole, who would occasionally mimic Vert. 

And, of course, Angie.

Angie was the only pet Vert knew the name of. The others had told him, some several times over, but he was not good at remembering things. But Vert knew Angie’s name as well as he knew his own. He wished he could ask her why that was, but he couldn’t. Even if he had the power of communication, Angie avoided him. Any time he swam close, she went the other way, or pretended not to see him in the swarm of others. 

Vert had something else he wanted to ask her. 

He knew what she was capable of, had seen her bring guppies and carnivores and starcatchers and all manner of creatures back from the dead. He wanted to ask her if she could do the same for him. But he couldn’t, because she avoided him and he lacked the ability to communicate, so he never did. 

Sometimes, though, Vert had the feeling that she could understand him. As though she could feel his thoughts like he did, as though they had shared some connection in the past.

Those thoughts never lasted long. Thinking of his past beyond the simple logic made him feel… bad. It was a hard feeling for him to describe, partly because trying to made the feeling worse.

Vert could not feel pain. Vert was dead, and dead things do not hurt. But Vert was also animated, sentient if not alive, and he could feel _something_. That something was bad, a deep and dark feeling deep inside his empty skull, that broke him from whatever thoughts had caused it. 

That bad feeling came whenever Vert tried to think of his past, of who he was before he was Vert the Skeleton, Vert the Good Fish. Sometimes he wondered who he was, what his goals had been, who his friends were. Sometimes, he thought that Angie had been his friend. 

Sometimes, he caught her looking at him when she thought he wasn’t paying attention. Sometimes, he thought he heard her say “I’m sorry” as she dashed away from him. Sometimes, he felt her in his mind, some long lost connection that sparked up as quickly as it faded away.

Everytime, the bad feelings came back and Vert abandoned the thoughts. Vert did not know if these sometimes were right, or real. Vert did not know much. Vert knew he had once been a normal guppy, that he had died, and that he was a good fish.

Vert also knew what others said about him. Whispers, rumors that he was the product of evil, that he was a bad fish. Vert didn’t like that. He didn’t see the logic to it. A bad fish would drop something bad. Vert dropped coins, something good, so he was a good fish. He didn’t spend much time thinking about that, either, as sometimes that line of thought brought the bad feelings.

Vert knew what they said about Angie, too. He had heard the hushed discussions, wondering how she chose who lived and who died. How she liked to play god, how she thrived on the power it gave her. He had heard her rebuttals as well, how she tries to save all but it is simply others’ times. He wondered if she could have saved him, or if she had tried, but those thoughts make the bad feelings even worse. 

Sometimes, though, sometimes he fought past the bad feelings. He struggled through and caught glimpses of his past. 

He wasn’t sure how much of it was real. There was no easy, logical path to follow for them. 

A childhood friendship, between him and Angie, was among the most prominent of memories. 

Angie, fluttering around a workbench, dense chemicals being poured from flask to flask. 

A strange tasting pellet of food, offered to him by Angie.

Pain.

Pain.

So much pain. 

Too much pain.

It didn’t matter in the end, Vert supposed. There was no changing the past. All that mattered was now and what he knew. 

And Vert knew he was a good fish. 

And that was enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Writeblr blog: @silverssideblog  
> Discord: cloudcover#7167


End file.
